


this blade sings for you

by BooksandKpop



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blacksmith Matsukawa, Hanamaki has a hand kink and we accept him for it, I actually don't know what you call these kinds of AU, M/M, Noble Hanamaki, and the strong implications that theyre going to fuck, i rated this as mature because of the innuendos, it's not modern anyway, there is no actual explicit scenes in the fic though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28464330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BooksandKpop/pseuds/BooksandKpop
Summary: The Matsukawa's had built a name for themselves as talented blacksmiths. Issei was no exception. In fact, word spread far and wide about his skill drawing shape from metal.So when a noble with far too much money and free time on his hands wanders into the store in search of the perfect smith to make him a sword, Issei steps up to the challenge. Hanamaki Takahiro is the prettiest man Issei has ever seen, and he seems intent on watching over the blacksmith's shoulder until the job is done.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69
Collections: Work's I've Finished





	this blade sings for you

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm...Happy New Year!
> 
> I once again got carried away and this is what happened. Y'all should know by now not to give me ideas on twitter if you want a short au because I cannot do those. 
> 
> So yeah, have fun with this disaster. I did not check it after dragging it over from my documents so if there are obvious mistakes I apoligise.

Plenty of people told him that he didn’t have to follow in his father’s footsteps and take charge of the town smithy. Issei appreciated their concern, but he had been in love with the heat of the fire and the sound of colliding metal since he was barely old enough to walk himself out of the house and across the street to where his father laboured away. He hadn’t been his only apprentice growing up, there was always a need for blacksmiths, but Issei wore his family name with pride whenever it was asked of him. One of the Matsukawas. A family that rolled into the sleepy forest town three generations before Issei and his siblings and had since made it their home. And had become a well-liked and highly respected part of the community, filling the gap of blacksmith with deft hands and fair prices. 

Now, at twenty-six, Issei had officially become the fourth generation of Matsukawa to run the smithy, with his father finally stepping down to care for his health. Not that Issei had any doubts he would be in at least once a day when he could manage, if just to let the heat of the forge chase out the chill in his bones. But he welcomed the position with open arms and a bright smile, letting himself get lost in the process of labouring over pieces of metal with his hammer and anvil, crafting everything from horseshoes to spades to swords when the need was there. 

Issei loved making swords. It was childish, he knew, but the dream of seeing a talented fighter wielding a blade of his own creation was something he had held for a long time. They didn’t make them often, usually just repairing damaged pieces for travelling adventurers or making ceremonial blades for the towns guard. But still, Issei let himself dream and continued making iron railings and another new cleaver for the butcher’s apprentice and all the little things that made him useful in the town. 

Right after the harvest festival was usually the quietest season in the smithy. Everyone had gotten old tools mended or new tools made right before the harvest, all the horses and donkeys had been shod, most of the repairs for the upcoming winter had been finished, and Issei was left with very little new things to do. So when his sister called him from the front of the shop to say there was a client looking to speak to the smith, he made his way out of the dimly lit forge and into the much cleaner store. 

“Ah, here he is. Issei, this man wanted to discuss getting a sword made.”

The man in question was dressed nothing like most of the adventurers Issei had seen come into the store in the past. Instead of well-worn boots there were shiny polished brogues, instead of warm tunics against the coming winter there were neatly pressed pants and a pale blue dress shirt, instead of a thick waterproof cloak there was a colourful jacket, and instead of a weather-beaten face there was soft, milky skin. 

“So you’re the blacksmith I’ve been hearing about since three towns over? I’m Hanamaki Takahiro.”

His voice tilted musically and the hand he extended was pale and smooth. A noble then, who never had any need to use his hands for labour. Or a scholar perhaps, whose work was solely done with a quill and paper. But Issei had met scholars before, and their fingertips were stained with ink. This man seemed to be free of any blemishes of a working life. 

“Matsukawa Issei. Shall we sit and discuss your request?”

It was clear from the beginning that while Hanamaki was definitely a rich noble who never did a thing for himself, he knew what he was talking about when it came to swordsmanship. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted, but he had an idea and that was good enough to start. Weight, balance, length, sharpness - Hanamaki had trained and duelled with most kinds of blade but had never found one that was quite right for him. Or so he said. Issei wondered if the man was just too fussy for his own good. If that was the case, this could be a difficult task for him to undertake. But he had no current projects, and unless an emergency came up there was no real reason for him not to take the job. His younger brother could always take over making fixtures or mending tools if this job got too much for Issei to handle alongside other things. 

There was also the striking fact that Hanamaki was one of the prettiest men Issei had ever seen. He carried himself with an air of confidence and haughtiness that made it clear he thought highly of himself, and had likely spent much of his life praised for his good looks and polite nature. They were contrasts in so many ways. Issei’s hair was dark and curly, cropped close to his head to prevent it getting in the way of his work. Hanamaki’s hair was a sandy-brown, nearly pink in the light of the late autumn afternoon that streamed through the shop windows. Where Issei was tall and broad from years of working the forge and doing manual labour, Hanamaki seemed to be slimmer, softer - delicate without looking fragile. Issei’s hands and face were darkened from the fire and soot of the forge which could never fully be washed away, while Hanamaki was pale, though not unhealthily so. Standing side by side they would look to be polar opposites, and something about that was intriguing to Issei. 

“So, how long do you think it will take you to make a sword for me?”

“Hmm?”

Issei realised he had zoned out staring at Hanamaki’s pretty face and stopped paying attention to the words that tumbled from soft, plush lips. Not that it was the first time he had lost interest in a conversation with a patron, but it was usually because his mind started racing towards thoughts of the project and not wondering what it would feel like to trace his hands over the faint smattering of freckles that dusted Hanamki’s cheeks and nose. 

“If you’re looking for quality I would say give me at least a week. I can have it done in minimum three days but I can’t guarantee it would be a good sword then.”

Sakura was within earshot of their discussion and gave him a judgemental raised eyebrow when she heard his timescale. Sure, usually it would take upwards of three weeks to make a high-quality sword, but that was because he was usually also working on several other pieces at the same time or they had to wait for materials. But Issei had wanted to dedicate himself to just focusing on a sword for a very long time, and this very well could be his only opportunity. 

“Alright, there’s no real hurry on it so take the week or whatever. I’d rather not end up with a shitty piece of metal that’s going to crumple at the first hit.”

The front door of the store opened before Issei could respond, and his father walked in leaning heavily on his cane. Issei had crafted that one specifically for his last birthday, and every time he saw him using it there was a strange mix of pride and sorrow that rose up his throat. 

“I was wondering why the forge was empty when I looked in. Not shirking your duties to flirt with pretty little things are you Issei?”

“This is a client dad, we were just discussing the specifics of his request.”

He turned his eyes back to Hanamaki and a laugh caught in his throat at the bright red that had made its way to the noble’s face and ears. Maybe he was used to compliments from other people like him, but ‘pretty’ might not be one he was used to. And especially not from a man like Issei’s father, who even hunched over his cane posed an impressively large figure. Issei stood from his seat and gathered up the paper he had written the details Hanamaki had given him on, drawing his attention back to himself. 

“Well then Hanamaki, I’ll get started on your request straight away. My sister will take your contact details and arrange for the down payment. Feel free to call in at any time to check on the progress of your request.”

It was a normal enough thing to offer clients the chance to call in and check on the progress. His father and sister didn’t bat an eye at the words. But something changed in the set of Hanamaki’s jaw as they shook hands, sealing the deal as such. It made a strange churning feeling start up in his gut. 

“Great. I guess I’ll see you soon then.”

Issei took the words as a simple dismissal and offered a smile to his newest client before turning and heading down out of the shop and into the forge. He began methodically laying out the framework for this project, mind already in the thick of it, measuring out the cuts of steel for the blade and tempering the metal with his favourite hammer. Because of it, he missed the stare of soft grey eyes following the movement of his back as he went to work. 

Two days later Issei was already halfway through drawing out the sword. Hanamaki had wanted something halfway between a shortsword and a rapier - long enough to allow him to stay out of reach of grabbing hands and broad enough to deflect and parry blows from a heavier blade. Issei had gone for a length of around 32 inches, although from his little experience the tempering itself might shrink the metal slightly. It was a little bit of an unconventional weapon, but when he saw the sum of money that Hanamaki had offered to pay as a down payment alone there was really no way to deny his request.

It was a particularly warm day for autumn, which meant that the change from leaving the forge to call into the shop for a few moments wasn’t as jarring as it tended to get on cold winter mornings. Issei hadn’t even needed to wear a jacket for the walk across the street from the house, his cotton shirt and pants keeping the chill off his skin for the short trip. His sister was busy gossiping to the eldest daughter of the town baker and Issei laughed at the twin gazes that turned to meet him. He was about to offer some sort of teasing jibe when the front door of the store opened and all his words left him at the sight. Hanamaki stood there, the mid-afternoon sun at his back, looking like he walked straight out of a fancy painting. For all Issei knew he might have. 

“Oh, just who I was looking for! I hope you don’t mind me calling in so soon after you’ve started but I was passing through.”

Passing through on his way to where, Issei should have asked. Hanamaki had no visible bag or pouches that would hold supplies for a journey, and thanks to his sister’s wonderful gossip circle they had discovered that the Hanamaki family estate was at least a four hour ride south of the town by horse-back. But Issei tore his eyes away from the glittering gold chain wrapped loosely around Hanamaki’s throat and gave his best professional smile. 

“It’s not a problem at all. If you want you can come into the forge and I’ll show you what I’ve got so far.”

Issei had met plenty of clients in the past who were particular about checking in on the progress of their requests. His father had taught him how to tell the difference between those who were just looking for something to do, and those who genuinely were interested in the process. While he wasn’t quite sure where Hanamaki fell on that scale yet, he had proven his knowledge of weaponry enough that Issei didn’t mind inviting him into the forge itself. It was hardly a secret after all, plenty of blacksmiths worked on outdoor bellows for all the world to see their craft. 

Hanamaki followed him after offering a polite greeting to the two women at the shop counter, and Issei made sure to warn him to watch his step on the worn stone stairs leading down into the smithy. It wasn’t dark per se, but the room had blackened stone walls and windows that had never let in as much light as they should have. The glow from the hot coals in the lit forge cast a dim halo of light around Issei’s workstation, and in all it was more than enough to see what he was doing. 

“Good Lord, it’s so hot in here.”

When Issei turned at the comment he saw Hanamaki standing on the last step just beyond the entrance to the room itself. His pale skin was already beginning to glisten with sweat. It was a rather distracting sight, especially when the dim light of the fire was making his golden jewelry glow and cast beautiful shadow patterns on his silk shirt, clinging to the dip and curves of his waist. 

“You were hardly expecting otherwise?”

All he could do was stand frozen in place as Hanamaki stepped fully into the room, moving closer to Issei and the light of the fires. Already his hair was beginning to stick to his forehead, and small beads of sweat were gathering on his temples and slowly tracing lines down his neck. Issei cleared his throat and hastily turned his gaze back to the bar of metal he had been forging for Hanamaki’s sword. It didn’t look like much yet, but Issei had been very pleased with the ease at which it bent and shaped under the hammer in his hands. 

“Well I wasn’t aware that your forge was indoors. The blacksmiths I’ve been to see before all had outdoor work areas.”

He hummed and used the chance to walk across the room to the side wall, grabbing a large iron handle overhead and started to turn it. The heavy wooden door that sealed off the forge from the town outside slowly began to rise upwards, pulled by a series of chains and cogs that Issei’s grandfather had all forged and installed himself. After a minute or two he had it open three-quarters of the way and locked the bar into place. It allowed a thick swatch of afternoon light to spill into the room in exchange for sucking the worst of the dry heat out. Issei didn’t work with the doors open very often, a habit from his father after a near accident with a group of curious young children wandering around, but he wasn’t opposed to the rush of crisp autumn air that brushed against his skin either. 

“Is that better? Would you like to see what I’ve done so far?”

Hanamaki was staring at him, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide - adjusting to the new light level, perhaps. Issei merely offered him another small smile and walked back over to where the future blade lay on the anvil. After a moment, the other man also took a few steps closer to see what he was paying for. 

He seemed pleased with the length Issei had chosen, and after the grinding process it would be slightly slimmer as well, both edges filed and sharpened down. They briefly discussed the piece itself, but Issei got the feeling that unlike the days previous when he had been entirely invested, Hanamaki’s mind was partially elsewhere. He didn’t mind, really, but it stung a little that while Issei was trying his best to engage him about his handiwork the noble had other, likely better, things to think about. When they lapsed into a near awkward silence Issei cleared his throat again and it seemed to make Hanamaki jump back into the present, wide eyes catching Issei’s before quickly flicking back down to the bar of metal. 

“Ah, well, I suppose I shouldn’t be keeping you from your work any longer.”

Issei just nodded, turning and walking over to the hook on the wall where he had left his apron and goggles before he went upstairs a short while ago. Why had he gone up to the store in the first place? He couldn’t entirely remember. It likely wasn’t important, so he simply pulled his apron over his head and tied the strings at the back. He pulled the goggles onto his head and left them resting at his hairline as he looked at Hanamaki again. The noble hadn’t moved from his spot by the anvil, though his gaze seemed to be following Issei around the room. It had been a long time since Issei remembered having someone watch him like this. 

“If you are in a hurry to get to wherever you’re travelling then feel free to go, but you can stay and watch the process for a while if you’re interested.”

He purposefully didn’t phrase it as a question, since that way there was no way he could really be rejected by the gorgeous man standing in front of him. But Hanamaki’s face lit up in a grin anyway, something more than the reflection of the fire sparkling in his eyes. 

“I would be very interested in watching you work, Matsukawa.”

That churning in his gut was back but Issei quickly moved away from that smile to grab a pair of ear defenders and a mask for the other man. Just because Issei had grown up with a traditional mentor who didn’t use all the proper safety gear didn’t mean that he didn’t know they were important. But it was a rather difficult habit to break. He wasn’t going to put his rich client at risk of damages though, that would be horribly unprofessional of him. Hanamaki took the offered pieces of equipment and quirked an eyebrow as he shamelessly scanned Issei’s own lack of them. But he didn’t say a word as he slipped on the mask and pulled the ear defenders onto his head. When he was done, he gave Issei a thumbs up which made a smile of his own tug at his lips. 

Hanamaki stayed for hours watching Issei work away at his sword. It was repetitive work, and certainly nothing fancy happened at the forging stage. All Issei was doing was repeatedly heating the bar of metal in the red hot coals of the forge before hammering it into shape on the anvil. At one point he had to stop and work the bellows, the air coming in from the open door cooling the forge faster than usual, but it came so naturally to Issei that he barely thought about it. Every movement while he was working was precise and calculated. When you were working with something that could go dangerously wrong at any moment there was no time or energy to waste on extra steps or faltering over his decisions. When he was younger, Issei used to worry about making mistakes, but metal was metal and could just be reheated and reshaped if something didn’t quite go to plan. As long as he followed the routine movements that were as easy as breathing, Issei could let himself get lost in the sound of his hammer clanging down on the bar of metal over and over again until it began to form the shape he desired. 

By the time he had another six inch section roughly in shape, Issei decided it was time to take a break. He worked the bellows for another few minutes, making sure to keep the coals burning hot enough that they wouldn’t burn out while he went to get some food. As he pulled his goggles and apron off and made his way over to the hook on the wall, a voice called out to him. 

“I can definitely understand now why so many people speak highly of you. You’re obviously very skilled.”

It wasn’t that he had forgotten Hanamaki was here, watching him, but the thoughts were definitely pushed to the back of his mind as he worked on drawing out the blade under his hands. Now though, he was nearly embarrassed that he had let himself get so lost in the work that he had left his company sitting in the corner of the smithy for what must have been hours. The sun outside had dropped close to the horizon, signalling that he had worked for longer than he planned. 

“Well, any blacksmith worth their salt needs to be good at what they do, or you end up with ill-fitting horseshoes or banisters that won’t support your weight or a knife that blunts with the first cut of meat.”

Growing up his father had told him plenty of stories about bad smith work he had encountered over his years. Issei could even remember some of the tales his grandfather had told him as a young child, ones with enough cursing and swearing that his mother would have scrubbed his ears with dish soap if she knew about it. Shoddy craftsmanship, rushed work that led to the metal dimpling or snapping at the slightest hint of force. Even if Hanamaki had told him that he needed his sword finished in three days Issei would have laboured long into the night to make sure that it wouldn’t shatter the first time it hit something. That was something that had been bred into him in the same way his movements around the forge were - through constant repetition and a hiding if he purposefully cut corners. 

“I’m glad I made the right choice in coming to you then. I can see how much you love this work.”

That was a compliment that Issei loved to hear. Because it was true, he absolutely loved working as a blacksmith. There was nothing that brought him a sense of fulfilment the same way as seeing someone using things he crafted and forged with his own hands. Issei laughed out a thanks as he made his way over to the open door and began the process of lowering it back into place. He would go across to his home and get something to eat, then return and go back over the parts of the sword he had already shaped a few more times. Probably by the end of tomorrow he would have it all drawn out, and then another two days or so would have it grinded into shape and ready for hardening. Which reminded him actually.

“We didn’t discuss it, but are there any engravings you would like on the blade? My younger brother is a fantastic metalsmith if you wanted a design near the hilt.”

His brother was also a skilled smith and had made plenty of high quality pieces, but his true talent lay in engravings or weaving delicate threads of metal into beautiful patterns. Their parents often laughed at how eager their three children were to take on the duties of the smithy and the store. It wasn’t uncommon for families to only have one child take on a family business, or sometimes none at all. But the Matsukawa’s were proud of their role in the town and good at the work that came with it, so the three siblings happily played their part in putting food on the table for their parents who had worked so hard to support them this far. 

“Hmm, I suppose I’ll have to give it some thought. When will you need an answer by?”

“Well, I’ll be finished forging the blade itself by tomorrow evening unless something goes amiss. So, before Saturday mid-afternoon I suppose. I’ll likely have it ready for hardening then.”

Hanamaki stood before him in the dim light of the smithy, the last of the autumn sun and the warm embers of the forge showing the delicate glow of sweat on his face. A desperate urge to test the temperature of his skin and taste the salt off his neck clawed at Issei’s stomach. It was unexpected, but not as much as he wished he could say. After all, Hanamaki was absolutely beautiful, and for all his brute strength and dirty work, Issei was a man who loved soft, pretty things.

They walked back up the stone stairs to the store together, making small talk about nothing of interest. His sister raised one eyebrow at them as they crossed the threshold before turning back to the farmer she was dealing with. Issei just knew he was going to get a grilling later on.

“Thank you for your time today, Matsukawa. I’m very pleased with how everything is coming along already. I’ll be back to you with my decision about any engravings before Saturday.”

He waved goodbye and nodded to his sister and the older man before striding out the door with all the confidence of a man who always got what he wanted. Issei had a strange feeling that there was something other than the sword Hanamaki was looking for from him. But he didn’t have too much time to dwell on it, not when his stomach chose that exact moment to let out a very loud and angry grumble. His sister laughed and the farmer commented on his dedication to the job. Issei offered them both a grin before quickly heading out the front door and across the street, towards the delicious smell of his mother’s home cooking. Maybe he would be able to have dinner before going back to work on Hanamaki’s sword again. 

True to his word, Hanamaki returned late Friday evening after the sun had set below the horizon with his decision about the engravings. 

“You don’t want anything?”

“Nope. I like the idea of the blade being completely smooth and clean.”

Issei had to put down the cloth he was holding and turn to look at Hanamaki fully. He had just arrived, knocking on the door of the smithy and jolting Issei out of his repetitive grinding induced dream state. Even now he wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t some extended hallucination caused by staring at the slowly sharpening blade for too long without a break. 

“So you rode all the way out here, while the sun was setting, to tell me you don’t want anything done with the sword?”

Hanamaki grinned at him, all teeth and grey eyes catching the dying pinks and purples of the autumn sky. He was ridiculous, Issei couldn’t believe him. He would have understood the late hour call if he had actually wanted something done and needed to give Issei and his brother time to work on it before starting to harden the metal, but he didn’t want anything! Issei stood there, starting at Hanamaki’s pretty skin starting to gather sweat from the heat of the forge rolling out from behind his back, and tried to ignore how that strange feeling in his gut had started to creep up to his chest. 

“Well, now that that’s sorted I guess I’ll be heading home. Thanks for your time Matsukawa, don’t work too late!”

Before he could protest that it was Hanamaki’s time wasted by coming all the way here for a five minute conversation, he was gone, white linen shirt flapping gently in the autumn breeze. Issei stood at the door of the smithy easily for fifteen minutes trying to come up with any reasons why Hanamaki would do something like this. ‘ _ He just wants to see you, he likes you, he wanted you to invite him to stay the night’  _ his treacherous heart tries to convince him. Instead Issei settles on a far more logical answer - Hanamaki Takahiro was a bored noble with nothing better to do with his time than go for long rides to bother the blacksmith that he hired to make him a sword. That was all. Issei nodded once to himself before turning back inside, lowering the door again and stoking the bellows to keep them lit. If there were no engravings to do then he could finish sharpening the point of the sword in the morning before hardening and tempering it tomorrow. 

The next morning, barely an hour after Issei had sat down to finish the edges and point of Hanamaki’s sword, the man himself appeared again. This time, he came trailing down the steps from the store behind Issei’s younger brother, a bright grin on his face that barely dampened as the heat from the forge hit him again. Issei’s brother didn’t flinch at the temperature, walking over to the corner and grabbing an apron and goggles from the closet without saying a word. Hanamaki hovered in the entranceway, obviously waiting for an acknowledgement or an invitation. 

“Did you change your mind about the engraving since last night?”

Hanamaki took his words to be an invitation to walk over to where he was sitting at the whetstone, eyes gleaming as they dropped to look at the blade in Issei’s hands. It was coming along nicely, just another hour or two and it would be ready. Unless, Hanamaki had changed his mind. 

“No no, don’t worry about that. Your brother just happened to be coming down here anyway and I followed him.”

“Oh, alright. Is everything ok Sou?”

His brother signed ok before grabbing some tools and starting to work the bellows on the forge to get the heat going again. Issei had been keeping it at a standby temperature since he wasn’t ready for the next stages of the sword yet, but obviously some sort of emergency request had come up. 

“Do you need a hand or have you got it under control?”

He watched the signals fly with ease from his brothers fingers before bursting into laughter and shaking his head. Of course that’s what happened. With a grin he turned back to look at Hanamaki and found him with a furrowed brow and the slightest hint of a pout on those glossy lips. Interesting. It made Issei’s heart thump dangerously loud. He ignored it. 

“It will be another while before the sword is ready to go through the hardening and tempering process. But if you’re happy to stick around, when I’m finished sharpening your blade we can discuss the design and shape for the hilt.”

The noble opened his mouth to say something but the words were lost when Sousuke began hammering on the knife he had brought down to repair. Hanamaki’s head whipped to the side to glare at the younger Matsukawa which made him chuckle. He carefully placed the blade on the workbench beside him and grabbed a set of ear defenders, dust mask, and goggles for Hanamaki to wear. They wouldn’t be able to do much talking while his brother was working, but the soft smile sent his way told Issei that he didn’t mind all that much. 

It was comforting, working away at perfecting the edges and point on the blade he was holding while listening to the sound of his brother hammering away at the forge. Issei loved those sounds, the feeling of the soft metal giving way to the perfect shape, the feeling of creating something that would be of use to someone else. And on occasion, Issei would lift his gaze slightly to find Hanamaki starting intently at his hands as he worked. His hands were calloused and scarred, darkened with soot from the years he had spent working in the smithy under his father’s watchful eyes and then by himself. They were strong hands, hands that made things designed to last, hands that could go through the motions of making a set of horseshoes or a set of iron door hinges without needing him to guide them. Issei was well aware of the appreciative looks that people in the town gave him as he passed by, his height and defined build gaining plenty of admirers, but he was most proud of his hands. 

The ringing of hammer shaping metal stopped and for a moment there was just the echo sounding in Issei’s ears. He finished up the final few strokes with his grindstone right at the tip of the blade before setting it down gently on an oiled cloth on the workbench. That was the hardest and most labour intensive parts finished. Issei reached up and wiped the stray bead of sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist, and then turned to find Hanamaki staring again. His face looked like he had dunked it in a bowl of water, and the skin itself was tinted a rosy pink. Oh, Issei hadn’t opened the door to the smithy to let some of the heat out. 

He stood quickly from his stool and reached out to offer a hand to the noble who was still staring. Was he going to collapse from heatstroke? But Hanamaki took his hand and Issei pulled him upright, leading him straight out of the smithy and towards the steps up to the shop. His brother was trying to question him but Issei signed ‘later’ and kept going. Upstairs, Issei settled Hanamaki down in a chair at the front of the store and opened one of the windows. It was a chilly autumn day outside, but hopefully the fresh air would help. 

“I’ll grab you a cup of water, just sit here for a moment.”

It wasn’t that Issei had forgotten about the heat that radiated off the forge, not when it was what he relied on for the heart his work, but Issei had grown up accustomed to the feeling. His brother and sister too, they were all hot blooded and paid the heat no real attention. But Hanamaki was a delicate noble with soft hands and pale skin who likely cooled off in a pool or under the shade with a fan during the hottest days of summer. When Issei returned with a cool glass of water he found Hanamaki watching him, skin still slightly flushed but definitely better than he had been. 

“Here. I’m sorry, I should have remembered to open the door since you were staying in the smithy.”

Hanamaki took a large sip of the water before pressing the cool surface to his forehead and rolling it side to side. Issei felt a little guilty, but the pretty shade of pink that had yet to fade from the other man’s cheeks and the shine of sweat on his neck was something Issei wouldn’t mind seeing for other reasons. He stopped that train of thought before it could get any further, straightening up and taking a half step back away from the noble. This man was a client after all. A pretty one certainly, but he still had work to finish. 

“Why don’t I grab some paper and we can discuss the hilt design up here?”

“Thank you.”

His voice was raspy as if he had just been screaming for hours. Issei encouraged him to drink some more water and went back down to the smithy to grab the designs they had drawn out during their first meeting. His brother had wrapped the cleaver he had been working on in the thick insulating leather and left it off to one side of the room, asking Issei when he came down if Hanamaki was alright. Issei assured him he was fine, just a little overheated, and they both shared a grin before he was grabbing what he needed and darting back upstairs. It was only as he was settling down in the chair next to Hanamaki that he realised the noble still had the safety equipment dangling around his neck. Lord, Issei’s mind was a mess. 

By the time they had finished discussing and sketching the design for the hilt and guards that Hanamaki wanted, his brother had reappeared and settled himself down behind the counter, taking down the “Be Back Later” sign their sister had left sitting there. It was a common thing for them, after all if it was urgent people would surely know to follow the sound of metal down into the smithy looking for Issei or his brother. And their father was probably sitting in his armchair by the window of the house, watching the front of the store. Still, Hanamaki obviously didn’t understand. 

“Isn’t it dangerous to leave the store unattended?”

“Not really. We don’t keep any coin on the premises and all the valuable metals and tools are downstairs. If someone wanted to steal something they’d have better luck coming back at night when we’ve gone home.”

They’ve had things stolen before, but everything was replaceable in the end. It said more about the Matsukawa families personal beliefs than their trust in the townsfolk that they were happy to leave the store front unattended if necessary. If people were going to steal, they would do it no matter whether the store was open or locked. Issei nodded at his brother's wise words of wisdom, which again Hanamaki pouted at. He obviously never had to learn sign language before. Sousuke raised a mischievous eyebrow in Issei’s direction as he came to the same conclusion, and began exaggeratedly signing towards them. 

_ You should sign back to me. He seems to have a thing for your hands. _

Issei snorted and his brother winked before turning dramatically and disappearing into the back of the store. Hanamaki was staring at the space he had left through with that cute furrow between his brows. Issei kind of wanted to reach forward and smooth the lines with his thumb, but that would definitely be crossing a boundary. 

“Are you feeling better now? I’m going to head back down and start hardening your blade.”

The heat flush had mostly faded from Hanamaki’s face but the tips of his ears went back to pink at Issei’s deliberate choice of words. Ok, so perhaps he was being a little unprofessional here, but he really couldn’t help himself as he offered an innocent smile at the noble. To be fair, it ran in the family. His grandfather had courted his grandmother after she came in looking for a dagger to defend herself, and his father had spent the night of Issei’s eighteenth birthday telling him stories of gracious customers he had met before Issei’s mother was in the picture. So yeah, he offered his hand to pull Hanamaki from the chair he was sitting in and led him back down to the smithy. 

Issei’s brother had stoked the coals until they were burning white hot, exactly what he needed for his next stages. But first, he made sure to open the smithy door all the way so that Hanamaki would not risk overheating again. The pink-haired man sent him a gracious smile as he followed Issei’s movements back to his workbench. With those eyes on his back, Issei knew he was flexing his muscles more than necessary as he pulled out the quenching tank from where it was stored and pushed it closer to the forge. The water levels needed to be topped up, and so Issei grabbed two large buckets and headed for the door.

“Where are we going?”

Hanamaki was immediately by his side, far enough away not to get hit by the metal bucket swinging from his arm. It made Issei’s heart thump far too quickly in his chest, the sound of ‘we’ coming from the noble’s lips.

“I need to refill the quenching tank with cold water, so I’m fetching some from the well.”

The well was a short walk from the smithy, it supplied water not only for the blacksmiths but also for the tanners and the barkeep in the town. The drinking water came from a separate source in the town centre, which Hanamaki seemed very interested in. He likely had never considered where the water for his baths came from, or where the chefs and scullery maids got their water for cooking. Issei continued to make mindless small talk as they made their way to the well, and even as he lowered the buckets one at a time to fill them to the brim with cool spring water. Although, by the time he was lifting the two heavy buckets up to head back to the forge, Issei got the feeling that Hanamaki was no longer fully listening to his words. The faint glossy look in his eyes was back as he stared at Issei’s hands and fingers wrapped tightly around the handles of the buckets, and lazily scanned up to his forearms and biceps which were bulging as he held the weight by his hips. It was much easier to see it now that they were out in broad daylight, and Issei chuckled a little to himself. His brother had definitely been right. 

“Shall we head back? I most likely will have your blade hardened and tempered by this evening at this rate.”

Small splashes of clear water spilled over the rim of the buckets as they walked back to the smithy, but Issei was far more focused on the redness of Hanamaki’s ears and the way his eyes kept flicking over to look at Issei’s hands and forearms. It gave him quite a rush, knowing that this noble had found something worth staring at. 

He instructed Hanamaki to re-don the safety goggles once they got back to the forge and Issei had filled up the quenching tank. The water was cool but not cold, which was far better for keeping the metal strong and flexible. Issei grabbed his own apron and goggles as he worked the bellows up again until the light from the forge was near blinding. The hotter the coals, the better the blade. Once he was satisfied he grabbed the now sharpened blade from his workstation and turned to Hanamaki. 

“Last chance to change your mind about adding details.”

“No need, please go ahead.”

Issei grinned and grabbed his tongs, picking up the metal by the tang that would be molded into the hilt when it was finished, and carried it over to the roaring forge. While he loved every part of creating new tools by hand, there was something so satisfying about this particular step. He watched the metal carefully as he held it in the coals. The shifting colours were always so beautiful; shining silver to dull grey to deep red to bright orange to yellow and then finally the edges began to gleam white. With calculated movements and instincts honed from his years repeating this process, Issei lifted the blade out of the coals and turned half a step to the right to plunge it into the quenching tank. The hiss and pop of the water as it turned to steam, the sizzling of the metal cooling rapidly and hardening into its new shape. Issei counted the seconds in his head, the timing perfected by the generations of family smiths before him and passed down through teachings. Finally, he lifted it out of the tank and watched as droplets of hot water rolled along the sharpened edges and dripped back down again. The gleaming silver blade reflected the bright afternoon sunlight that streamed through the open doors of the smithy as well as the white hot glow of the coals in the forge. 

“That’s certainly hardened now, don’t you think Hanamaki?”

The splutter and cough would have been covered by his dust mask had he been wearing it, but it hung loosely around his neck instead. Issei smiled at him, aiming for polite and professional but he knew that there was no hiding the mischievous glee from his voice. It was too easy now, knowing that the noble enjoyed staring at him, that he flushed a pretty pink at suggestive words. Issei wasn’t a cruel man, but he enjoyed having a bit of fun, and right now nothing sounded as appealing as teasing Hanamaki. 

Issei had to let the forge cool slightly before he could move on to the penultimate step of finishing Hanamaki’s sword. While the metal was hardened now it was brittle and rigid. For it to be any use as a weapon he would have to spend some time tempering the steel until it gained an element of flexibility. After that he just needed to craft the hilt, bind the two pieces together, and run a whetstone over the edges to make sure it was beautifully sharp. He told Hanamaki all of this as he laid the blade back on its cloth and made a show of clearing away some things around the smithy. With the door wide open there wouldn’t be long to wait until the forge was at the temperature he wanted, but it was fun to catch Hanamaki staring at the way Issei’s muscles moved under his cotton shirt and pants, the deft movements of his hands as he wrapped unneeded tools in leather and swept the metal shavings from under his workbench. 

There was no strict number of times a piece of metal should be tempered until it was ready. But Issei was a very talented blacksmith and his father had taught him everything he knew, and so it was just a case of repeating the process until his instinct told him it was finished. Heat under the forge until the dark red begins to brighten, then dunk in the quenching tank until the sizzling stops. Repeat. Hanamaki had moved closer with Issei’s permission and his eyes were burning holes into Issei’s neck and hands as he watched intensely. 

“How do you know when it’s nearly finished?”

His voice was husky as it came out, before he cleared his throat in what sounded like embarrassment. Issei wasn’t a vain person, but after all his recent revelations he liked to think that watching his movements was causing Hanamaki to react this way. Turning his head he took in the pretty pink flush and the light sheen of sweat on the noble’s skin, the way his shirt was sticking to his chest and waist with the heat of the forge. It was a good look on him, bordering on the line of debauched, but not enough that people would suspect something had happened. Issei sort of wanted to push him over that line.

“Instinct mostly. Even though it’s hardened now there should still be a little give when you press against the flat of it. There should be more movement at the tip than the base, but it doesn’t feel like it’s actually going to bend.”

Growing up with several other apprentices his age, learning their craft and spending a lot of time together, meant that Issei had a vast repertoire of phrases that were just a little too suggestive to be professional. He could hardly be blamed for it though. The world itself seemed to enjoy comparing swords to phalluses. The innuendo is hardly lost on Hanamaki as he coughs again and turns his eyes away from the metal in Issei’s hands. And Issei just can’t help himself. 

“Would you like to feel it for yourself?”

“No! I mean - uh, I trust your judgement Matsukawa.”

Issei’s grin is surely wicked as he presses three fingers against the metal near the point of the blade and pushes down, Hanamaki’s gaze immediately locking on to the movement. It’s nearly finished, and he tells the noble as much. Two more repeats and he will leave it for the night, before starting to work on making the hilt tomorrow. He can see that Hanamaki wants to stay longer and continue watching, but thinks better of it and announces he should head home and return in the morning. Issei bids him goodbye and a safe journey, and openly stares at the way Hanamaki’s silk shirt clings to his back with sweat as he walks out the door, leaving the goggles on what had become his chair in the corner of the room on the way out. Issei decides to leave the large door to the smithy open until he’s finished, just in case Hanamaki decides to come back. 

It’s late afternoon the next day and Issei wishes he could deny the worry that had been eating at him for hours. Although he had said he would be here in the morning, it was a long journey for the noble to make and he likely had plenty of other things to do with his time, that was what Issei kept telling himself as he worked on the final pieces for the sword. He was making the hilt out of poplar, a fairly standard wood that the generations of smiths before him swore by, and making a wrapping out of newly tanned leather that the butcher had traded them as payment for mending yet another cleaver his apprentice broke. The pommel was already finished, coming from the same length of steel the blade had been drawn from, and Issei was just getting started on shaping the guard when there was a knock on the door outside the smithy. Opening it found Hanamaki standing there dressed in the plainest clothes Issei had yet to see him in. 

“Good afternoon Matsukawa, how are things coming along?”

He sounded slightly out of breath, which was enough to make Issei wonder if he had rushed here knowing he was late. It was unlikely. Issei invited him into the smithy where the forge was still burning away at a comfortable heat. Comfortable for him at least, but only a few minutes in and Hanamaki’s fringe was sticking to his forehead with sweat again. Each time he came around Issei came closer and closer to losing his grasp on professionalism, but at least the end of this deal was in sight.

“I’ve nearly gotten all of the pieces together for the hilt. Shouldn’t be too long until it’s ready for you to feel for yourself.”

Without the sound of a hammer colliding on the anvil or the hissing and popping of water boiling under hot metal, it was quiet in the smithy. Quiet enough that Hanamaki struck up a conversation with Issei as he dragged his chair closer to the workbench. It was mostly Hanamaki doing the talking, just telling rambling stories about himself to fill the silence. Issei didn’t mind the company or hearing Hanamaki’s voice wrap around them as he worked on shaping the guard and putting the pieces of the hilt together. When he pulled out the finished blade from its wrappings Hanamaki trailed off telling the story about his friend Konoha and his bad luck with horses. 

First came the guard, sliding it over the tang and making sure it wasn’t loose around the base of the blade. Then the two halves of the wooden hilt, carved out to perfectly fit that strip of metal and hold the guard in place. Issei worked to meticulously glue the pieces together, using his hands and a set of well-used clamps to make sure everything was secured. He looked over to Hanamaki and found those grey eyes fastened to his hands, and he let out a small huff of air. Since the noble had lost whatever enthusiasm for speaking he had on arrival, Issei would just have to fill the silence with his own stories as they waited for the glue to dry. 

So that’s what he did. He spoke about his training as a blacksmith, learning from his father and the pride he held taking over the family business. How his younger brother was never able to speak and so they all learned sign language to communicate with him. How his sister had once taken a hammer from the forge and chased a sleazy adventurer the whole way out of town after hearing how he spoke to some of her friends. It was easy speaking to Hanamaki - well, it was more like he was speaking  _ at  _ Hanamaki since the noble had yet to tear his eyes away from the flexing of Issei’s hands around the hilt of his sword. He would be offended, if not for the flush that was slowly crawling up that pale neck, glistening with sweat, and the way he kept shifting slightly in his chair. Issei had a feeling he knew what kind of thoughts were running through this client’s mind. 

With the glue pretty much dried Issei let go of the hilt and tightened the clamps while he reached for the pommel. It was nothing fancy, just a simple flattened sphere with an indent in the centre on both sides. He had tested the weight himself for counterbalancing the blade, and he hoped it was good enough for Hanamaki. Standing from his position at the workbench finally made the noble look up at his face, and Issei caught sight of dilated pupils and glossy lips before Hanamaki looked down at his nearly completed sword again. 

“I’m going to weld the pommel to the bottom of the hilt now, and once it’s cooled you can see if the weight is what you were looking for. I can make a few small adjustments, but nothing drastic at this stage.”

Hanamaki just nodded, coughing lightly into his hand and averting his gaze to stare out the open door of the smithy while Issei grabbed the sword and pommel and made his way over to the forge. He didn’t need it to be very hot for this, since he would be sealing it with glue as well, so he decided against stoking the coals. Even though Hanamaki seemed to enjoy staring at the way his shoulders and biceps flexed when he worked on the bellows. It didn’t take long to attach the pommel, and with the wooden hilt sealed in place the sword was basically completed. 

“Do you want to test it out before I add the leather grip?”

A strange feeling washed over him as Hanamaki reached out and took the offered sword from him. It was his, he had paid quite a decent sum to have it made, but Issei felt a connection with the weapon after dedicating a whole week to its completion. There were very few lengthy projects that Issei had worked on which required his sole focus, usually he would be making other things alongside something like this. But not this time. Hanamaki’s commission had taken up pretty much all of his time and dedication, and watching his pale, smooth hands grasp the newly glued hilt and felt the weight of it. 

“Do you mind if we go outside where I can swing it around a bit?”

From their first meeting Issei had discovered Hanamaki knew what he was talking about regarding swords and technique. But seeing it in action was a very different thing. It was like a switch had been flipped as he settled into a fighting stance and an aura of confidence surrounded him. This was different to the air of confidence he carried normally, one that came from being raised in a wealthy background. Issei felt his chest tighten as he watched the fluidity of Hanamaki’s movements as he stepped through a standard array of maneuvers. The autumn sun caught on the flat of the blade as it moved through the air, jabbing at imaginary targets then spinning back as if to block and counter an attack. Issei’s arms and legs itched with the urge to grab a weapon from inside and spar against him, but it was very clear that he would be outclassed in a heartbeat. 

“Satisfied?”

The noble spun on the balls of his feet to face Issei with a grin he hadn’t seen before. It was nearly enough to make his breathing catch. Then Hanamaki was taking bounding strides towards him, his sword clutched comfortably in hand. 

“Hmmm, I think you still have a bit of work to do, Matsukawa.”

Oh, now that was a challenge if ever he heard one. A challenge that Issei was more than confident he could take on and prove himself. His lips tugged up in a smirk as he took the sword from Hanamaki’s hand, deliberately pressing their fingers together in the process. 

“Then please, allow me to keep working your sword until you are  _ completely  _ satisfied with my services.”

As they sat back down at Issei’s workbench, far closer than they had been before, there was a very clear change in the energy between them. Hanamaki was always sweating when he came to visit, not being used to the heat of the forge, but this was the first time Issei noticed the scent of it. Fitting for a noble, he smelled a lot like lavender and powder - something clean and soft. Issei knew that his own natural smell was more akin to burning coal and metal, something he had spent his whole life around, but he was intrigued by the fact that there could be more to this pink-haired swordsman underneath his layers of wealthy upbringing.

Attaching the grip to the hilt was an easy task. The wood took the glue beautifully, and the piece of leather Issei had been given was the perfect texture - soft enough that it wouldn’t cause harsh abrasions but also with enough grip not to send it flying out of sweaty hands after long bouts of training or fighting. Issei wondered if he should ask why Hanamaki was looking for a new sword in the first place, but he didn’t want to break the thick tension that wrapped around them. In the end, he didn’t need to do anything. They both startled at the sound of metal rapping against the solid flagstones of the smithy. 

“Ah, your pretty little client is back again I see.”

If Issei had thought it strange that his father hadn’t been into the smithy all week he never said anything. With his health slowly getting worse he didn’t want to press the matter, but he did miss the excitement of having him come around and watch Issei finally get to dedicate time to working on a sword - something he had always dreamed of doing. Having him appear now though was the worst of all the times he could have dropped by. Not only because of the way Hanamaki jumped back and stared sheepishly at the door, but also because Issei was practically finished with this piece. 

“He was testing out the balance on the blade before I wrapped the hilt. I’m nearly finished now.”

His father shuffled towards them, the sound of his cane tapping a regular beat and filling the now awkward silence. Issei wanted to jump up and show off the sword to his father - his mentor and inspiration - but he knew better. There was still a bit to do on the wrap and he wouldn’t jeopardize the very last part of this sword to look for praise. 

“Hmmm, I see. Are you a good swordsman?”

The question was directed at Hanamaki, clearly, but the noble remained frozen and silent. Issei nudged him with his foot without looking, determined to perfect the finish on this sword and make his father proud. 

“Oh, yes sir, I think I am. I can hold my own in a fight at least.”

Issei hummed his agreement. Hanamaki was definitely a good swordsman from what he had seen. An actual sparring match would be different, sure, but there was a steady confidence in the way he had wielded the sword. He had seen enough town guards and adventurers passing through that he could pick up on the difference between egoistical overconfidence and genuine trust in their skill, of which the noble certainly had the latter.

“I’d certainly love to see it, if you think you’re up for fighting my boy here.”

“Dad, I don’t think that’s a great idea -”

His words fell on deaf ears as his father winked at him and made his way deeper into the smithy where they stored a few swords in case of emergencies or to loan out while they were making repairs. Issei could hold his own in a fight - he would never have survived his apprenticeship if he couldn’t - but Hanamaki could definitely lay him flat out with his swordsmanship. Fortunately, the pink-haired man was too flustered to notice Issei’s momentary floundering before he refocused his attention on finishing the sword in his hands. At least this would be a decent test of his craftsmanship. In fact, that was probably his fathers main motive behind suggesting a duel.

“Uhm, Sir, if Matsukawa doesn’t want to fight then I don’t think -”

“Sure he does. And you should call him Issei, since I’m Matsukawa too.”

There was really no arguing with Issei’s father. The man hadn’t turned this smithy into a well-known name for his work alone. He took no nonsense from anyone and in his youth had bested plenty of people in all sorts of combat. If he hadn’t been a good man - nor his mother such a genuine believer in fairness and equality - the world might have been in danger. As it was, it just meant that Issei and his siblings always ate their vegetables and had wonderful manners. So when his father held up with a broadsword that he had helped work on during the first months of his apprenticeship, Issei simply sighed and looked at Hanamaki.

“I guess it will be a good way to make sure that you’re absolutely satisfied with my work, right?”

Without checking his reaction, Issei stood from his position at his workbench and moved to grab some sandpaper. All that was left to do was take the edges off the leather wrap and Hanamaki’s sword would finally be complete. It had been a great experience, getting to dedicate himself entirely to the job, and it left a slightly sour taste in his mouth knowing that after this he probably wouldn’t see the noble again. But Issei was beyond proud of his work, and was looking forward to seeing it in action. Even though he knew it would end in embarrassing defeat.

“Excellent. I’ll go get your brother and you two can meet us outside when you’re all ready.”

There was a mischievous lilt to his fathers words but Issei just chuckled and continued with his movements. He was not going to make a mistake on the very last step of finishing Hanamaki’s sword. After his father had left, silence fell in the smithy and Issei could feel the weight of the nobles gaze against his back. Truthfully, he was excited to spar against him. 

“Are you sure this is really ok?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun.”

Then, finally, after a week of single minded work, he was finished. Issei set down the sandpaper and took a deep breath, holding it for a moment to savour the feeling. Then he released it and felt a smile spread over his face. He grabbed a clean cloth and gave the blade a quick polish and rubbed down the leather grip on the hilt before turning and meeting Hanamaki’s eyes. The pink haired man was staring at him, but he quickly dropped his gaze to the sword in his hands. The silence felt like something momentous as Issei took three steps forward and held out the finished sword to its rightful owner. Hanamaki’s hands hesitated for a moment over it, before reaching down and taking it into his own. And as soon as he held it up to the light a manic grin stretched out his lips to reveal perfect white teeth. 

“Alright then. I suppose we should break it in.”

Issei felt a shiver run down his spine at the glint in the noble’s eyes. He nodded once before stepping back and removing his gloves and apron. The broadsword his father had chosen for him was lying on a bench at the back of the smithy, and after he checked it over quickly Issei turned to say something witty to Hanamaki. Instead he saw the man silhouetted in the autumn sun pouring in through the doors and another feeling punched him in the gut. Because he knew that Hanamaki was attractive, it would be impossible not to, but the way he held himself with a sword Issei had crafted for him, watching him with the sun highlighting his curves and the subtle pink of his hair, it was like nothing he had ever seen before. 

And Issei desperately didn’t want him to leave.

They made their way through the door side-by-side. Issei’s father had taken a seat just at the edge of the street with Sousuke and Sakura standing around him. When they saw him all three offered a smile and thumbs up, followed by Sousuke telling him to “ _ play the pretty boy’s weaknesses” _ with a wink. Issei rolled his eyes and turned to meet Hanamaki’s serious expression. He hadn’t sparred properly in quite some time, so this was probably going to be over very quickly. Nevertheless, he took his position and held his broadsword up in a ready stance. Hanamaki settled into his own stance opposite him and they locked eyes. 

“Fight until yield. Whenever you’re ready.”

As soon as the words faded from the air, Hanamaki was in motion. Issei barely managed to step to the side and raise his sword to block the blow. The metallic clang of their two blades meeting reverberated through Issei’s bones and his instincts took over. While he may not be professionally trained he was a blacksmith by nature; metal was what he knew. And so he tuned out everything apart from the heavy weight of his weapon in hand and the ferocious look on the pretty noble’s face.

Everything was a flurry of movement and trading blows back and forth. There was no way for Issei to get an upper hand, not with the fluidity and confidence of Hanamaki’s training guiding each of his strikes and blocks. But the noble couldn’t get one over on Issei either. The blacksmith was taller and broader, his impressive strength from years of labouring in the forge enabling him to hold his ground. Issei had no idea how much time had passed, all he knew was the shocks travelling through his wrists at each clash of their swords, the repetitive clash of metal and the singing sound of a perfectly sharpened edge slicing through the air. It was exhilarating. 

Issei was hyper focused on their duel. So much so that he couldn’t help but notice more about Hanamaki. The furrow in his brow as he ducks under a swipe, the flare of his nostrils when one of his attacks are intercepted, the clench of his knuckles around the hilt of his sword as he stabs for a powerful thrust, the baring of his teeth in a near feral snarl as he charges forward in an attempt to knock the blacksmith off balance. But it’s more than just that. Issei sees the way the pinkish hair around his ears and temples has begun to curl with the sweat beading on his skin. How his irises are a slate grey but dotted with flecks of green. There are faint freckles, obviously fading with the disappearance of the summer sun, smattered across his cheeks. There is no way he couldn’t notice these things, not with how close they get into each other's faces with each trading of blows. He has to watch every single movement Hanamaki makes, track the smallest changes in his stance and his expression to try and anticipate what will come next. But in doing so, Issei realises he has never wanted anyone else as desperately as he does right now. 

Hanamaki takes a few steps back after the last side swipe at his hips. They’re both still moving, slowly circling, shoulders rising and falling with their heavy breaths. Issei licks his lips and tastes the salt of his sweat on them. He catches the way Hanamaki’s eyes flicker down and up so fast that had he not been watching he wouldn’t have seen it. And while he has blocked out everything outside of this bubble between them, his brother’s advice suddenly comes to mind. Issei moves his broadsword to his left hand and holds it diagonally in front of his chest in a defensive position, then raises his right to wipe the sweat off his brow. Immediately he sees the effect it has. Hanamaki’s pupils widen and he swallows hard as his gaze follows the path of Issei’s hand across his forehead, down his neck and across his chest to grip the hilt of his sword in both hands again. Before the noble can shake himself from his brief distraction, Issei takes advantage of it to close the distance between them. 

He thrusts forward with the flat of his blade, intent on knocking Hanamaki off balance, but the noble is too well-trained to falter so easily. He intercepts Issei’s broadsword with the edge of his own before sliding it up to catch on the cross-guard and turn. If Issei had been any lighter, or weaker, or the ground hadn’t been firm beneath their feet, the maneuver would have worked exactly as intended. Instead, Issei planted his feet then released his right hand and wrapped his arm around Hanamaki’s waist, pulling him so his back was pressed against Issei’s chest with their swords still locked above their heads. He could feel the tremor in the pink-haired fighter’s body as they froze for a moment, heat pouring from both of their bodies where they touched. Issei was panting, desperately trying to catch his breath so he could whisper something in Hanamaki’s ear like this.

But the moment didn’t last. Issei received an elbow in the gut causing him to stagger back just enough that they were no longer in contact. With the small space gained, Hanamaki spun, pulling Issei’s broadsword down and aiming a swift kick at the side of his knees. While he managed to pull his sword towards him and step back to avoid the kick, he was not able to brace fully for the force of the impact as Hanamaki swung his sword down against Issei’s. It made him stumble slightly, and from there he was just about holding on and parrying the flurry of blows from the skilled swordsman advancing on him. While before there were brief seconds of respite where Issei could adjust and prepare for the next attack, now it seemed that Hanamaki was no longer holding back. His mind was blank as he parried, blocked, dodged and deflected the neverending onslaught. One thought caught him off-guard as Hanamaki’s teeth caught his shiny bottom lip during an overhead swing, but that was enough for the noble to finally land the finishing blow. Issei stumbled under the impact of Hanamaki’s sword against the base of his own and failed to notice the foot that hooked under his right ankle and pulled it forward. His momentum combined with the knockback from the final attack sent Issei sprawling onto the ground, landing ass first on the solid ground. He was going to yield like this, but Hanamaki obviously didn’t feel it was enough. 

The noble’s entire weight bore down on him. Hanamaki’s hips straddled his stomach and one hand pressed his chest back until he was lying flat on the ground, face pointed skywards. Issei felt the light pressure of a sword tip at the hollow of his throat and fought the instinct to swallow harshly against it. His chest was heaving with each breath and through the ringing in his ears he could hear Hanamaki’s panting as well. There was something terribly intimate about their position and Issei wished he could revel in it. Were it not for the threat of getting cut he would raise his head and hope to catch a pink-faced and flustered noble sitting prettily in his lap. Instead, he let his sword fall from his grip and rasped out the words needed to end their fight.

“I yield.”

The pressure against his neck disappeared and Issei released a sigh of relief. He was about to offer a remark of some sort - a compliment for Hanamaki’s skills or a jest at their position - but the words died when the noble shifted slightly backwards and ended up sitting right on Issei’s crotch. His heat and weight were barely there for a moment before it was gone, Hanamaki standing to accept his win and leaving Issei with a very real dilemma. His sister’s teasing voice broke through the fog in his head, enough to make him move and thank the gods that his shirt was untucked and long enough to hang past his waist when he stood. 

“It’s a good thing we didn’t bet the second half of your payment on the outcome of this match, or my brother would be out a lot of coin.”

He forced out a chuckle, trying to even out his breathing and pointedly not looking at the noble standing beside him. Issei was certain that he wouldn’t be able to control himself if he saw the way Hanamaki looked after their intense fight, red-faced and covered in sweat. It would make him think things that he certainly shouldn’t in front of a crowd. Because a small crowd had indeed gathered in a semi-circle behind where his father was sitting, a smug grin on his face. They had likely heard the commotion and come to watch, and Issei could hear the whispers and giggling from plenty of the women who were staring at the two dishevelled fighters in front of them.

“Well, is my son’s handiwork up to your standards?”

Issei’s father easily cut through the tittering voices and Issei found himself immediately standing straighter. The question was not directed at him but it was his pride at stake. He had poured everything into making Hanamaki’s sword. 

“It’s perfect. I’ve commissioned swords before but this is the first time one has felt like it was actually made for me.”

The words of praise had a breathless quality to them that did all sorts of things to Issei. His whole body, despite being battered and bruised, felt like it was coming alive again. He turned just in time to catch Hanamaki quickly looking away, and Issei was dangerously close to just grabbing the noble by the hand and dragging him across the street to bed him. But there were things to be done at the forge; equipment to be put away and payment to be taken for completing the job. He also wanted to check Hanamaki’s sword to see how it held up after their fight, and wrap it in a heavy cloth to be transported safely, since the noble didn’t seem to have a sheath ready yet. So he reluctantly swallowed the ache in his bones and went through the motions of completing the job. 

An hour later dusk had fallen across the smithy as Issei finished wrapping Hanamaki’s sword. The outside door was shut and the interior was lit by the sunset streaming through the windows and the burning coals of the forge. Hanamaki had given a generous tip for the job, despite Issei and Sakura’s attempts and convincing him otherwise. After a round of tea inside the shop with the whole Matsukawa family, it was finally time for Hanamaki to take his commissioned sword and leave for home, for the final time. Issei felt a horrid knot forming in the base of his throat at the thought of not seeing the pink-haired noble again. And it seemed the other man wasn’t keen on leaving either. 

“You know, with a bit of training you could be a very talented swordsman.”

“That’s high praise coming from you. But I don’t need to be a talented swordsman, I make my living here in the forge.”

It was quiet. Only the occasional pop from the forge and the distant, muffled sounds of people heading home outside. Issei wanted to stay in this moment forever, with Hanamaki so close that should either of them take a step forward they would be touching. 

“I could give you lessons, if you wanted. Help improve your form a little.”

Issei knew his sister had closed the shop upstairs and headed home with their father, and his brother had gone to meet his friends in the tavern for a drink. The doors were locked and the light was quickly fading from outside, enough that no one would be able to see through the windows of the smithy. Maybe that was why Issei leaned forward, enough that Hanamaki had to tilt his head back slightly to keep eye contact. 

“Oh really? And how would I pay for these lessons, Hanamaki?”

The closeness was intoxicating, he could feel himself getting lost in it. Hanamaki’s tongue darted out to lick across his top lip and Issei’s eyes followed the movement, wondering what he tasted like.

“It’s Hiro, please. And I’m sure we can agree on a payment that will suit us both.”

His hands found Hiro’s waist and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from pulling the noble flush against him. But there was something thrilling about this back and forth, even though both of their intentions were clearly palpable with the way the air between them grew more charged. 

“I suppose I could offer free repairs on your sword, would that be enough?”

The noble’s hands ran firmly up Issei’s biceps and across his shoulders before looping around his neck. Soft fingers drew patterns against his skin and brushed against the hairs at his nape. Issei wanted to see how far he could drag this game of theirs out before one of them cracked. He didn’t particularly care about winning, because the outcome would be the same. 

“Hmm, I was thinking of something a little more personal. Something that only you could offer.”

Hiro stepped up to press their chests together and tipped his head further back to keep eye contact. Issei was going to keep going with their banter but then Hiro thrust his hips against Issei’s leg and his eyes and lips fluttered with a quiet moan. There was no force that could have stopped him from bending down to capture Hiro’s lips with his own in that moment. His mouth tasted like tea and peppermint, and the noble wasted no time lifting himself up on his toes so he could press his tongue deeper into the blacksmiths mouth. It had only been a week since their first meeting, but Issei felt like he had been waiting years for this moment. 

It was completely dark outside by the time Issei finally found the strength to pull his mouth away from Hiro’s skin. He had been delighted to discover that the faint freckles he had noticed earlier were also dotted across pale shoulders and thighs. The noble whined when Issei stood and moved to pull his shirt back on. It was far from cold in the smithy, but it was getting very late.

“You haven’t eaten this evening, and it is a long ride for you home is it not?”

“I’m staying at a tavern in the next town over. And right now there is really only one thing I’m hungry for.”

Hands reached and grabbed at the waistband of Issei’s pants and he groaned at the contact. But he took Hiro’s fingers in his own and raised them to his lips, pressing soft kisses against the knuckles. While he certainly would love to go further and taste more of Hiro, the safety of the man sitting on his workbench was his main concern. 

“Why don’t you leave the sword here tonight, and come collect it in the morning? My house will be empty when everyone leaves to the market.”

Issei wanted the chance to take Hiro apart and explore every inch of his soft skin and toned muscle. He wanted to be able to see the blush growing on his face and match beautiful expressions with every sound he made. That was not something they could do in the dim light of the forge, on empty stomachs and tired minds. Tomorrow, after a full meal and a long rest, he could give the prettiest noble he had ever met the treatment he deserved.

“Very well, I will return tomorrow for my sword and the first of your payments for our sparring lessons.”

Another kiss was pressed to Issei’s lips before Hiro jumped down and began the process of redressing. There was nothing for him to do but stare as his pale skin was covered once more, and he ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. At least both of their states could be written off as the aftermath of their earlier fight. Issei walked him out through the back entrance of the store and over to where his horse was tied up. It was a beautiful thing, a deep chestnut coat with a dark mane and tail. Hiro called her Nugget and freed her bridle with a fond smile. He tried to offer a hand, but Hiro threw a wink over his shoulder as he easily pulled himself up onto the saddle. 

“Sleep well Issei.”

Even after the dust under Nugget’s heels had cleared from the road, Issei remained leaning against the fence post. Hiro arriving earlier that afternoon seemed like quite some time ago now, with everything that had transpired and it left Issei feeling rather off-balance. He wandered home when his stomach decided to finally protest it’s emptiness aloud. His mother rolled her eyes at him as he stumbled into the kitchen, calling for Sakura to draw a bath for him as she began reheating his dinner. In the corner by the fire Issei could see his father’s wicked grin before he turned back to his book. Tomorrow he would bring Hiro through here, dragging him up the stairs to his bedroom. And as long as the noble was serious with his suggestion to give Issei sword fighting lessons then he would continue seeing him after that as well. 

As he soaked in the bath after eating his fill, Issei couldn’t help but wonder to himself about Hiro. What had made the noble travel all the way out here to have a sword made, why was he staying in a tavern close by, what noises would he make as Issei drew out the heights of his pleasure. Hopefully, they were all questions that he would get answers to tomorrow, or over the coming days and weeks as they continued to see each other. But for now he was sated. He had finally achieved his childhood dream of dedicating himself to making a sword from scratch, and had also somehow gained the attention of a pretty noble who could lay him out flat. Issei hummed happily to himself as he towelled off and climbed into his bed, excited for what else was to come. 

  
  



End file.
